Surrogate
by SGCbearcub
Summary: Inspired by the WIKTT Surrogate Mother challenge. Snape is looking for a Surrogate. Hermione wants Snape's head on a platter. It's a match made in hell. Then it gets complicated. HG/SS No real spoilers, HBP to be safe.
1. Prologue

"I regret to inform you that was the last one."

Severus resisted the urge to snarl at the disappointed avarice in the Matron's eyes. She paused in a sorry approximation of a delicate manner, clearly unwilling to believe she could not locate a witch capable of meeting his requirements. Indeed, he suspected her professional pride as well as her greed were in full agreement on this matter. Surrogacy was the dirty little secret of the Pureblood world, and Matron Bonipoli had a reputation to uphold.

"Are you certain you wouldn't be willing to consider...alternatives?" the Matron asked.

He came slowly to his feet.

He dropped his gaze to the pulse that began to throb visibly in her neck and sneered. Her cowardice in the face of his displeasure stank like Muggle London and her lack of character was an affront to any witch worthy of the name. Children a third of her age had done better.

"None of my requirements are negotiable,"he said flatly.

She swallowed, then smiled tightly as she recalled that he had come to her, looking to buy. "Muggleborn witches are not as hard to find as one might assume. The level of innate power you require is more rare, but not impossible to locate. All things are possible for those with...shall we say...certain types of business associates ,"she said.

There was no regret in her mind for the imagined fate of the witch she planned to find for him. The echos of terrified screams and a brief image of a hollow-eyed witch, large with child and chained to a filthy bed assaulted him. He backed away from the touch of her mind and curled his lip in a fair approximation of the look Narcissa would have given an overflowing sewer grate.

"Perhaps,"he said icily,"I did not make myself clear."

The Matron's expression bleached itself of color and expression.

"Muggleborn, Madame. I care not for its virginity or lack thereof. Power at the level specified or above,"he said with distant courtesy. He smiled mirthlessly and wondered what she would say if she ever discovered the true source of his dissatisfaction with the brood stock she had presented. Lily Potter's intelligence combined with her natural talents had created a specific set of problems that echoed even into this day.

"The witch will be willing,"he finished harshly," or not even our Dark Lord will be able to find all the pieces of your soul."

* * *

She was tired of crying.

She had cried when Dumbledore was killed. She had cried when her parents were sent away for their own safety. She had cried when Harry had turned to her, face alight with joy that he had succeeded, that Voldemort lay dead at his feet. Then she had watched green eyes darken with pain and confusion as the Bastard Snape struck him from behind.

There hadn't been enough DNA left to properly identify the body.

There had been no victory. Harry was dead and they had never found the last Horcrux. They had never even known what it was. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort was reborn. This time, there was nothing to stop his rise to power.

The Ministry scrambled to reassure everyone that Voldemort was gone for good and people who should have known better, believed them. The Ministry displayed the reptilian dead body and held public executions for those few Death Eaters they managed to capture. They purged the Wizengamot of sympathizers, and government coffers swelled as they enthusiastically seized the assets of wealthy traitors.

None of it mattered to the Disillusioned witch grimly watching the Bastard Snape as he Apparated away.

She had been shocked when she had learned what happened inside the conservative little building just off Diagon Alley. Not the practice itself. That was straightforward enough. What was shocking was the number of Pureblood couples that availed themselves of the service. She had learned that among certain segments of the population it was a well known fact that a healthy Halfblood or Muggleborn witch could make more money in nine months than the average Ministry employee made in five years.

Maybe.

Furtive whispers also suggested that some of the girls had disappeared. The desperate and the greedy wanted to believe they had simply moved on to a better life. The more cynical were not so hopeful. Certain scions of powerful Pureblood lines had Halfblood and Muggleborn mothers in more ways than surrogacy alone. Genes. Magic. Hermione held no doubt that some Purebloods would kill to hide that truth.

But today, she cared only about one rumour in particular.

It seemed the Bastard Snape wanted an heir.

When Tonks had reported that rumor to the Order, Hermione's first thought had been a blank,"The heir to what...?" She had not been the only one to speculate. Ron and the twins had snickered as they joked that a surrogate was the only way Snape was capable of reproducing. They had been torn between which reason to deride the loudest - his lack of appeal or his lack of interest. At the time, Hermione had denied the urge to point out just whose arse he might have admired then, if the Bastard didn't like girls.

Fred and George had turned an interesting shade of green when she mentioned it later.

Kingsley has just looked tired when she had tried to explain her concerns about the rumours and all but patted her on the head and told her to go outside to play. She supposed he had his reasons. The Order had exhumed and destroyed the bones of every Riddle relation they could locate. But Hermione wasn't worried Voldemort would repeat himself; she was worried his followers would try something different.

And she was deathly afraid the Bastard was pimping for the Devil.


	2. Hermione Plots

"NO!"

Hermione held her ground as Ron raged about the kitchen. Their kitchen, really. Harry had left it to them jointly, along with enough money to see to its upkeep for the rest of their lives. Luckily, he had not bothered to leave them Kreatcher. There had been no more secrets to protect after the Bastard betrayed them. The House-Elf had disappeared immediately after Harry's death in any case.

It had been that, more than anything, that had convinced her Harry was gone.

The bulk of his fortune and his treasured broomstick had been left to Ginny. He had wanted her to have the freedom to chose a life other than the one Molly had mapped out for her. Ginny had locked herself in her room and cried for three days after the will was read. Hermione had not even known that Harry had written one. When the first shock of his death started to fade, she had felt embarrassed that she had never thought to consider the fate of Headquarters should Harry die before Voldemort.

She supposed she had never thought it would matter.

Most of the Order members were watching Ron with varying degrees of agreement, although most were still in shock. Unlike Ron, they had not quite grasped the fact that she was completely serious.

"HE'LL KILL YOU!"Ron shouted.

"He needs me,"Hermione pointed out flatly, ruthlessly forcing herself to be very clear in her own mind about the consequences of that need.

Several of the watchers turned matching shades of green.

"We need to know what he's up to,"Hermione said bluntly."Surely no one here believes the Bastard actually wants a baby to raise."

Ron's unfortunate resemblance to a dying goldfish was not aided by the choking noises coming from his throat. Hermione met his wild eyes with grim determination.

"We all know the most likely reason he wants a child. "

"So we kill him,"Tonks said quietly.

There was no trace of the cheerfully clumsy young witch in that flint hard expression. The Aurors seated on either side of her seemed in agreement.

"And then what?"Hermione demanded. "We wait for Malfoy or Bellatrix to do the same? How many can we kill before one of the children survives?"

Ron's skin paled to a sickly white.

"Maybe Snape is the only one who can do it,"Ron said abruptly. "Scabbers didn't bring Voldemort back this way. "

"Maybe he did, Ron,"Arthur said unexpectedly, and in the eyes around the table Hermione could see the memory of Harry's description of the night Voldemort had returned.

Something had gone into the pot.

Of all the men seated here tonight, Mr. Weasley was one she would have least expected to support her idea. She stared at his expressionless face and wondered briefly what his answer might have been had she still been dating Ron. Or if Ginny had offered. Arthur was watching her carefully and nothing in his eyes gave her a clue one way or the other.

She reminded herself that she was done crying.

"He's not going to hurt me,"she said finally."Not until the child is born. That gives us a nine month window, assuming he needs a healthy child with full magical potential."

Ron flushed and glared at the floor. Finally he shifted his gaze to a point just to the left of her shoulder. He twitched uncomfortably.

"What if he wants to..."he asked faintly, flushing harder,"...with you?"

The thought had honestly never occurred to her.

"We can't protect you if we aren't there,"Ron added.

Hermione's puzzlement grew as she saw the same discomfort reflected on the faces of all the men in the room and several of the women.

"I'm a witch, Ron,"she pointed out, feeling a bit foolish for stating the obvious.

He just looked back at her, worry on his face.

"He needs a willing witch,"she said, exasperation overtaking her."I can become unwilling pretty damn fast if he tries anything and Imperio would interfere with whatever magic he's working with. Consent is a fairly consistent theme in the more complicated blood magics."

All of the Aurors were looking at her now.

"What?"she asked.

"Hermione..."Tonks said carefully,"if you revoke consent, the child will abort. Snape will have to start over."

Hermione frowned.

That was sort of the point.

Everyone was staring at her, now. From the shocked expressions and scandalized looks, none of them had even considered the fact that as long as the Bastard needed the child, he was the one who was vulnerable. The threat alone would be enough. It was after the child was born that her safety dissolved.

"You could really do that?"Ron whispered hoarsely."Abort the child?"

"We wouldn't have expected you to...to actually be the one to..." Lupin said in a strangled tone.

"We would have done it for you,"Ron said flatly.

Hermione flinched at the unexpected tone, then anger stirred. "Done it for me? What sort of a coward do you take me for, Ronald Weasley? If I do this, that makes it my responsibility."

Ron opened his mouth, pausing as his mother stood abruptly.

"Don't bother, Ron,"Molly said, contempt in her eyes. "I believe Miss Granger has made her feelings on this distasteful subject quite plain. I, for one, am convinced she can do what needs to be done."

Hermione sat stunned as cold anger surged toward her from all sides. Tonks and Minerva were both looking at her as though she had betrayed them. Lupin looked worried and the others...

They all looked at her the same way Draco had, the day he called her a Mudblood.

Fury fanned itself as the implications of their reactions began to clarify. No one had been happy about it, but except for Ron, they had been perfectly capable of seeing her walk into the Bastard's clutches and carry Voldemort's demon spawn if it helped the cause. No doubt they would have applauded her courage in the face of the abuse they expected would occur.

It would seem it was only heroic to be the Bastard's victim.

Lupin coughed and shifted awkwardly as Hermione glared around the kitchen with equal amounts of fury and contempt.

"You'll need a Pensieve,"he started carefully.

She almost laughed. After this reaction? Leave herself at the mercy of what the Order chose to tell her oblivious self? Not bloody likely. Without knowing the true reason why she had consented, she would not even know she was part of the fight. Her role would be diminished to that of broodmare. Especially if the calculating look on Molly's face was to be heeded.

"I'll use a Sequenced Obliviate,"she said firmly.

There was utter silence, then the Aurors exploded in an uproar of accusation and counter accusation. Hermione refused to answer when pressed as to the source of her knowledge. Truthfully, she did not know. Harry had never told her where he had learned the charm. But it offered the best hope of maintaining any semblance of control over the situation.

The Bastard would use Legilmency on her, of that she had no doubt. He would assume she had a hidden agenda. He had never liked her, but even he would have to wonder at her flightiness if she agreed to this scheme. He had to know she saw him kill Harry. Money as a motive would not cut it.

She'd just have to show him every weakness he had ever thought to see.

She had to convince him that she was foolish - and arrogant - enough to believe he'd fall for the plans she would show him. A Sequenced Obliviate would banish her true memories to an unused part of her brain. They would be unlocked only when triggered by a preset circumstance, an event, or a keyword. Her greatest challenge would be to create a series of false memories that would match the emotional resonances of the suppressed memories. Otherwise, the misalignment would give her away.

The Aurors were not happy she had learned one of their most deeply held secrets. Nor, she suspected, were they happy with the fact that as the caster, she would hold complete control over which memories were altered...and how.

"I'm doing this,"she said firmly. "With or without the Order."

For a moment, she thought Ron was going to follow his mother as Molly marched firmly toward the Floo-powder. Then he dug in his heels and shook his arm free of her grasp. Ignoring Molly's outraged gasp, he turned back towards Hermione. They were no longer dating. That relationship had been one more casualty of the Bastard's betrayal. But he was still her friend.

"How can I help?"he asked.

* * *

_She was done with crying._

_The witch crouched in the bushes and regarded her prey carefully, determined not to lose him. She smiled grimly to herself and considered how the Order would react when they learned she had done what none of them had been able to do. She wasn't called the brightest witch of her age for nothing. They should have listened to her when she told them what she had overheard. Instead, they had shuffled her off to the library and told her to study._

_Study, she thought resentfully._

_As if she didn't already know more charms than any dozen of them put together. They were always underestimating her. Telling her to get her emotions under control. She was under control! She was just angry. Harry was dead and none of them wanted to do a damn thing about it. Well, she would show them. She would do what none of them had the brains or the guts to do and she would find the Bastard Snape and she would be the one to leak information about his whereabouts so the Order could come and get him. Maybe she'd capture him for them and they would arrive to find her standing triumphantly over his prostrate body._

_She had a satisfying image of a resentful and powerless Snape glaring impotently up at her from his position on the floor. Or no, better if he were on his knees. Yes...he'd hate that. Ron would realize what she had done and regret all the nasty things he had said to her. She would forgive him eventually, of course. He was her friend. But he didn't understand her. Harry had been like her brother and Snape had killed him. _

_She'd see the Bastard in a cage if it was the last thing she ever did._

_She would stare into his eyes and smile when he realized that the student he had always ridiculed had been the one to bring him down._

_It wouldn't be that bad. It wasn't like she had to have sex with him. She shuddered slightly at the thought. Ugg. He was old. And ugly. And old. Snape probably didn't like girls anyway. Thank-god. It would be embarrassing, but she would survive. Like a trip to the doctor. And he would have to be nice to her once she was pregnant. She had a brief image of sending Snape out for pickles and strawberry ice cream and almost giggled._

_Well, maybe nice was pushing things a little._

_She doubted the Bastard knew the meaning of the word nice. Not even for the sake of his own child. Poor kid. She felt sorry for it already. Maybe Molly and Arthur would adopt it after Snape was arrested. She had no desire to be its mother, but it would be her responsibility to make certain it wasn't abused. If Molly wasn't interested, maybe her parents would like another child. Her mother had always said she regretted not giving Hermione a baby brother._

_She stared at the door of the Surrogacy Clinic and fantasized about the looks on the faces of the Order as Scrimgeour handed her an Order of Merlin, First Class. _

_She was startled when the door of the clinic opened suddenly and Snape stalked out into the street, trailing rage and power. For a moment she had second thoughts, then clenched her jaw tightly. She was Gryffindor. She would do this. She would do it for Harry._

_She would never have gotten close to him without Harry's cloak. Ron didn't know she had stolen it, but he would forgive her. She had cast a Silencing Charm on her sneakers and Snape seem oblivious to everything in his rage. She briefly considered throwing her arms around his neck as he Apparated, then realized that would be a good way to get herself splinched. She wasn't as good at Tag-Along Apparition as she wanted to be, but it was worth the risk and was less risky than her other choices._

_She just hoped he wasn't about to Apparate into a field of Death Eaters._

_Clutching the cloak around her tightly, she held her wand in a white-knuckled fist and cast her spell just as he shifted his weight and started to turn. The distinctive tug behind her navel grabbed at her and she prayed she arrived with all her fingers and toes._

_Somehow, she didn't think Snape would give her a chance to go back for them. _


	3. Success?

Incompetent fools.

It had clearly been a waste of his time to come back one more time. In spite of his warning , the Matron had chosen to tread the ragged edge of his temper – to her own detriment. The prospective witch did not possess near enough power, and she had clearly been drugged. The Matron was as ignorant of the requirements of blood magic as she was greedy - although any Death Eater would have understood immediately why he needed a willing witch. Only the fact he needed Bonipoli's resources had held his hand.

He would not be so generous if one more dark of the moon saw him unsuccessful.

How hard could it be to find a Muggleborn witch willing to exchange nine months for enough money to see her through a three-year Apprenticeship and then some? Not, he thought scathingly, that the candidates the Matron had introduced to him appeared to have any desire to better themselves. Of the most recent, only one had the wits to appreciate the resources even a disgraced Potions Master might possess. Regrettably, she had fallen woefully short in other areas.

Lily, he thought resentfully, was becoming more of a pain-in-his-arse than her son.

Given that he cared not whether the surrogate had the the morals of an alley cat or the ethical standards of a Malfoy, he was rather put out at the lack of candidates presenting themselves. He was beginning to think he might need to become...creative. Kidnapping was certainly looking more and more appealing. Once he shoved a Calming Draught down an appropriate witch, he could surely find something for which she would be willing to trade. Introductions to civilized society were in short supply these days, but a Muggleborn always had other concerns.

Survival, for example.

A concern clearly not shared by whatever fool has just Tagged an angry Dark wizard. The idiot was too powerful to hide his presence and too clumsy to be an Auror. Scrimgeour was as ambitious as Fudge had ever been and he'd held high standards while in charge of the Aurory. Not that Severus was short of enemies these days. Between the righteous indignation stirred by the murders of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter and the generous bounty the Ministry had placed on his head - there were any number of lack-wits interested in seeing him brought down. Most, however, were smart enough to bring friends.

"One would think,"he snarled, as he grabbed for a robed arm as it materialized, twisted and put his back into the throw,"that seven years with me would have been enough of a warning."

He had taught practically every wizarding child in this country under the age of thirty.

Only a Gryffindor would be so arrogantly lacking in sense.

"Is it Carfeld then? Ten years away from Hogwarts dull your wits, boy? Or perhaps it's Mulligan. I'll have to remember to tell Master Barstow his Apprentice failed utterly to bring credit to his teaching."

The wizard lay crumpled where he had landed; blessedly silent, which ruled out half the Gryffindors of memory. He racked his brains trying to recall which student might have had the time and training to develop the power signature he had felt. Ruling out Aurors drastically reduced the list of possibilities. Ruling out the dead shrank the list still further. Unless...

Grimly he reached down and yanked the Bane-Of-His-Existence to her feet. Hermione-fucking-Granger. The witch tossed her hair out of her eyes as she scrambled for secure footing and glared poisonously at the hand gripping her wrist. Reflexes drilled into him as a child released her and he watched with morbid fascination as she shook herself like an offended Kneazle, tugging her robes into a semblance of order. Then she transferred her glare to his face.

"I hardly think that's an appropriate way to treat the mother of your child,"she snapped.

He didn't even think to defend himself as she waved her wand smartly and scorgified the dust from her robes. She eyed him for a moment, then sniffed with feminine displeasure. He had certainly seen the same obnoxious expression directed at her two cohorts more than once. His lip curled automatically at the thought of her missing appendages. Then the substance of her words sank in and he did what he always did when shocked or off-balance.

He went through the ribs instead of under them.

"Well, well, Miss Granger. I wonder what Mr. Potter would have said if he could see you now,"he said throatily.

He never even saw her fist before he saw stars.

Which pissed him off to no bloody end. He'd had a front row seat for the rabbit punch she had given Draco all those years ago. Chit had a penchant for sucker punches and he should have known better. He probed his cheekbone with cautious fingertips and curled his lip.

"Careful, Miss Granger. Your heritage is showing."

He watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened with outrage. He waited for her head to explode and was more than slightly disconcerted when her expression cooled. Then she smiled with a feline arrogance that had his fingers itching to cast a few hexes. Only the monstrosity she called a cat had ever looked more satisfied with itself. He could all but see the canary feathers sticking out of her mouth.

"I hear you are offering double the going rate,"she said calmly. "I want triple. And an Apprenticeship with Madame Aurelius."

Snape couldn't keep his eyes from widening as the witch echoed the very thoughts he had experienced earlier. Not that the money was a problem. Lucius had gladly agreed to foot the bill once Severus had told him what he wanted. It would have been rude to call it payment for the life debt incurred on Draco's behalf, but it would balance the books between them. Aurelius was a problem. She had no issues with Dark Magic, but she had no tolerance for stupidity - and she considered anyone who willingly followed Voldemort to be stupid indeed.

She was also the only female currently holding dual Masteries in Arithmancy and Potions.

"Potions was hardly your best subject, Miss Granger,"he sneered.

As an insult, it was perfectly honest. She had a remarkable ability to understand theory and demonstrate it under safe, controlled, and directed conditions. Disappointingly, she evidenced very little ability to apply what she knew when she didn't have a recipe and a rulebook. Lily's instinctive grasp of Potions had been exhilarating when they had worked together and a joy to watch. Potter had admired her without understanding her, and his son had inherited precious little of her talent.

"I can learn Charms from a book,"Miss Granger said, "I need someone to teach me Potions."

So she wasn't completely ignorant about her own shortcomings.

"What you need to learn, "he said bluntly,"cannot be taught."

Her jaw lifted and tightened. "Maybe I had a bad teacher,"she accused.

The ultimate insult for the too respectful of authority Miss Granger.

He snorted.

She crossed her arms. "I also want ten books of my choosing." Given the glint in her eye and the fact he was a Death Eater, he could guess that the titles would not be on the Ministry's acceptable reading list.

Truthfully, he'd have been amused with the witch's ambition had he not been appalled by her arrogance. Although given his circumstances, he would be a fool to turn her away. Easy enough to discover what she was really up to after they were somewhere better protected. For him, anyway. Her safety would depend on her cooperation.

"I suppose I'd better accept then"he drawled,"before the price goes up."

She flushed unattractively, but did not back down or look away. Not that she was meeting his gaze directly. She had not forgotten he was a Legilimens. Of course, not meeting his eyes told him she had something to hide.

And her secrets would be more dangerous than most.

* * *

She barely had time to catch her breath before they were Apparating.

She could feel his bony fingers wrapped tight about her wrist and she had to clench her jaw to hold back a sudden unexpected urge to throw up. She clenched her teeth as the world spun around and around and reminded herself of all the good things she wanted. The Order's approval. An Order of Merlin.

Snape's head on a stick.

It was the first image he saw when they stopped spinning and those bony fingers clamped tight on her jaw and pushed her head back. It wasn't a metaphor either. She really wanted his head on a stick. Eyes glassy and mouth opened in a scream of ultimate pain and torment.

"Blood-thirsty little Gryffindor, aren't you?"he muttered.

Then he ripped past the veil of her mind as if all her training, all her practice was as nothing. She grabbed for her memories, stuffing them randomly into her pockets. She saw the one about the pickles and ice-cream go flying by, and from the disdainful expression on his face, he was not amused.

Then they all just slipped through her fingers.

She cried out as he snatched them away from her, one by one. Her resentment of the Order. Ron yelling at her to move on, that Harry was dead. Her anger and her recent ambitions. Her desire to see Ron crawl as she gloated triumphantly, all of them wrong about her. She was the brightest witch of her age and she would prove it. Nine months of her life wasn't that high of a price to pay.

There was a jolt as her heels connected solidly with wooden floorboards and she realized he had let go of her jaw. She narrowed her eyes at him resentfully and waited to see what he would do. Kill her probably, she thought with annoyance.

He had taken two steps back from her and was watching her with a distant expression on his face. His eyes were cool and she could not read anything in the lines and shadows that were all he showed the world. Finally he inhaled sharply, a shockingly loud sound in the silence around them. His mouth twisted strangely.

"How very prosaic your thoughts are,"he said coldly.

His tone was icy and Hermione found herself shivering. In spite of the sneers she had endured from him over the years, she was bewildered as to why this should feel as though it were the first time he looked at her with contempt.

"I must admit,"he said slowly, "that you have finally surprised me."

He raised his wand and she couldn't help the flinch or her instinctive step back. Then she reminded herself that she was a Gryffindor. Coldly she stared back at him, letting him see every ounce of her hatred. Every dram of conviction that he was the lowest of traitorous filth ever to walk the planet and someday, somewhere, she and Harry would laugh when he got what was coming to him.

The words of a half-remembered spell drifted through her mind and she pulled it to her. Cuddled it. Wrapped the words around her fingers and waited for the last breath she would ever take. The Bastard Snape paused, a momentary flash of puzzlement flitting across the sharp edges of his face. Then his wand moved and she opened her mouth to release the words in her hands.

"Your money,"he said bluntly.

Her mouth stayed open for a stunned moment and he looked at her with irritation and distaste. She blinked as her eyes crossed trying to refocus on the parchment that appeared midair before her and hovered. She got as far as the gold lettering that edged an official draft from Gringotts Bank when Snape lowered his wand.

"I will do my best to secure an Apprenticeship with Madame Aurelius, but you may have to accept a substitute. The Madame and I are not on speaking terms," Snape said indifferently. "The books you may chose at your leisure. You will avoid the more dangerous ones until after the baby is born."

Hermione's head shot up at the sudden snap of command and her eyes widened as her mind finally caught up to what he was saying. She just stared at him blankly, wondering if he had gone mad. He'd seen...he had to know...

She froze as the obvious occurred to her.

He knew - he just didn't care.


	4. Interlude With Lucius

"Congratulations."

Severus swirled the expensive brandy in his glass and ignored him. Lucius sighed and sank gracefully into the deep chair across from him and regarded him with amusement.

"One would think you disappointed in her character," the other wizard remarked with pointed sarcasm.

Severus curled his upper lip and took a disrespectfully large swig of brandy that did nothing to honour the calibre of its creation.

'One should always prefer an enemy one can respect,"Severus replied gloomily.

Lucius grimaced. "You are a throwback, my friend. And one doomed to be disappointed if you look for quality in today's crop of Gryffindors. Besides, she is but a vessel. Her character is unimportant in the grand scheme of things."

Severus took another swig of brandy and said nothing.

Lucius smirked." Fear not. You'll soon have Lily returned to you. Although whether you plan to raise her as a daughter or a bride is still unclear to me. You have an unhealthy obsession with that Mudb..."

His voice cut off abruptly as Severus jerked his head around and gave him a deadly glare. Lucius swallowed a disrespectful swig of his own and cursed his wayward tongue. Severus had never had any tolerance for that particular insult applied to that particular witch. And the Dark Lord had seen fit to allow the peculiarity.

A man's obsessions were his own to manage.

"Our Lord is pleased with you, Severus. And I...I am glad we will not have to wait much longer."

Lucius meant his tone to come out light and airy. He didn't succeed. Severus straightened from his depressed posture and regarded him warily. Lucius flashed a bitter smile.

"Be thankful you are not called before him, and be grateful for his patience. Others have not been so fortunate."

The Order had moved too quickly for complete victory over the Dark. There had been two Horcruxes left when the Dark Lord fell, and his spirit had fled the confines of dead flesh for the safety of the living. Nagini had welcomed him, and the two pieces of his soul had merged. Lucius was still not certain that was supposed to have happened. One moment she was a giant snake, the next she transformed into another version of the Dark Lord. More snake-like and less human, but still the most powerful wizard Lucius had ever met.

"He is no Animagus, Severus. Yet one moment he is as a man, and the next he is a snake. He killed Jerritt three days ago. I was standing right next to him and I have no idea what he did to offend our Lord. The Dark Lord is still...digesting."

Severus winced.

"The snake's influence is strong,"Severus remarked unnecessarily.

"I do not need you to tell me the obvious!"Lucius snapped. "Tell me the potion will work."

"The potion will work,"Severus said flatly. " Lily's blood is the last component. The Dark Lord will have what he needs. And I..."

He smiled, and Lucius - who had thought his sensibilities well lost with the last of his illusions and most of his scruples - shuddered.

"...I will have Lily."


	5. The Contract

Hermione sat in the darkened room the Bastard had offered her and waited for him to return.

She didn't recognized the house. It wasn't the one in Spinner's End and given that he had Apparated her directly into the kitchen, it wasn't protected by a Fidelius Charm. She could have left any time after he had gone. He hadn't even taken her wand.

She didn't move.

Instead, she stared down at the parchment in her hands and wondered if she had forgotten anything.

Clearly he had intended to house the mother of his child within these rooms. They were no last minute prison. The walls had been painted relatively recently, although not so recent as for her to smell fresh paint. The bed was sturdy - and sized for a single person. The rest of the furniture was plain, but serviceable and even the bedding was...comfortable. Not overly pretty, but not the spartan ugliness she had expected.

She didn't know what to think.

That bank draft had been prepared long before today. She had watched her own name burn itself into the parchment as she held it. More zeros than she had ever seen in one place in her life. More than enough to pay for an Apprenticeship. And he had promised to find her a Master. Had promised with his life, as it turned out.

If she signed the contract.

Her demand for ten of his books had been added to the end. Truly, she had not expected him to agree. But then, his terms were not ones many witches would be willing to meet. Never to tell a living soul who had fathered the babe. Well, that one was easy enough to understand. He was a wanted criminal after all. Hardly the sort of information he would want a disgruntled surrogate telling the Aurory.

She agreed to live in his house for the duration of the pregnancy.

She agreed to take care of her health and that of the babe.

She agreed not to contact anyone outside the house until the pregnancy was over.

She gave up all rights to the child.

Hermione's mouth had tightened when she read that one. This was a magical contract and he was a Dark Wizard. If she signed, she wasn't just giving up her legal rights, she was giving up her magical ones too. She found herself whispering a tiny apology to the not-yet-created child whose father may have signed his child's death warrant with those words.

She agreed...

She agreed...

She agreed to give up her wand.

And so, she sat in the dark, and contemplated everything she was prepared to do for revenge. It puzzled her that she was willing to consider this travesty at all. Even for an Order of Merlin. When she had time to think about it, it seemed to her that she had never really wanted one that badly. But some instinct kept prodding at her, something wrapped up in anger and terror and hatred kept whispering that this was the right thing to do.

And so she burned changes into the contract.

He would have to agree not to touch her without her permission. He would agree not to hex her. He would agree not to raise his hand to her. He would agree to protect her and the baby, even at the expense of his own life. That last at least would tell her what sort of plans he had for the child. Human sacrifice was not unknown in the Dark Rituals.

It seemed peculiar as well that she was not more concerned for the child. She found herself wondering why she wasn't more shocked by the possibility that the Bastard had nefarious plans for his son. Uneasily she wondered why she wasn't leaping to the child's defense. That was what she should be doing. Instead, all she found within herself was a disturbingly intense curiosity about what he wanted the child's life to accomplish.

She frowned and reread her codicils again, just to reassure herself that she had not forgotten anything.

If he signed that altered contract, he was pledging his life to her safety. The Bastard had a Life Penalty as the consequence of breaking the contract. They were rare, but she had read about them. If she agreed to willingly carry the child, she couldn't become unwilling without deliberately harming it. She would have to be damn certain there was no other choice before she broke the contract.

The cost would be her life.


	6. The Deed is Done

She awoke from a drug-induced sleep with the vague sense that something had changed and a vivid memory of lying flat on her back in his laboratory and seeing him turning toward her with a potion in his hand. Her hands flew automatically to her robes, instinctively reassuring herself that they were unmolested.

Her wand was gone.

She heard a disgusted snort and turned her head to see him watching her with a familiar sneer on his lips as he followed the path of her hands. There was no need to translate that look. Even so, she glared at him suspiciously.

"Why did you knock me out?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "While my interest in your body is purely clinical, I had no desire to deal with a hysterical teenage witch when it came time for the more...intrusive portions of the procedure."

"I'm not a teenager,"she corrected reflexively, her mind grappling with the disturbing realization that he must have seen her naked. Parts of her anyway. While she was unconscious. And that meant that she was...

Her hand rested briefly on her stomach. Then she was off the hospital bed that had been tucked into a curtained off corner of his basement lab and was throwing up in the nearest bin. She could sense him watching her from the other side of the bed, and she shakily tried to convince herself she wouldn't hex him if he so much as took one step in her direction. Wandless or no, she'd do it.

I agreed to this, she chanted mentally. This is for the Order. For Harry.

She threw up again.

Finally he sighed.

"Do pull yourself together,"he said brusquely. "The procedure was a success. Stress at this point is not healthy for her."

Hermione wiped at her mouth with her sleeve and peered at him blearily. "Her?"

He blinked. "My...daughter,"he said slowly, as if tasting the word carefully.

"Your daughter," Hermione echoed.

"Have you a hearing problem you neglected to disclose?"

Hermione blinked rapidly as she tried to refocus. "You said an heir. I thought...a son?"

There was a pause, then one side of his mouth quirked up. "How very Gryffindor."

She glared and was about to protest hotly that it was the Wizarding World that was behind the times when he shrugged and turned away from her. She stood there and glowered as he cleaned up several ominous pieces of equipment she was not going to ask about. A careless wave of his wand emptied the bin at her feet while another freshened the air.

Her wand hand itched as she glared at his back.

When he turned around he halted as if surprised to find her still there. With a vaguely puzzled look he ordered her to find something to read and leave him in peace. Sputtering at being so cavalierly dismissed, Hermione stomped into the library and chose two of the rarest and most expensive books she could find. Not that she would hurt the books, but it was principal of the thing.

Then she retreated to her bedroom to sulk.

And read.

Thirty minutes later she had forgotten she was angry and acknowledged the knock on her door at suppertime with a grunt and a hollered "go away". Her door opened anyway and she found herself glaring at a supper tray as it floated into the room. Grudgingly she ate it, and found herself resenting the fact she couldn't even complain about the quality. It wasn't up to Molly's standards, but it was good.

She finished the book by midnight and as she drifted off to sleep, was barely aware of the thoughts pushing and shoving and rattling around in her brain. But that night she dreamed.

Hermione Granger awoke the next morning, and remembered who she was.


	7. The Backlash of Hatred

In spite of her new-found memories, Hermione chaffed at the restrictions her current situation placed on her. The contract prevented her from leaving without the Bastard's permission and it wasn't like she had anything to report. The Bastard seemed perfectly content to ignore her and spent most of his time in his laboratory.

If ever she had entertained thoughts of cleverly discovering his plans by luring him into conversation, that ridiculous notion died a quick death. She never saw him long enough to ask any questions. Not that this was a bad thing. Her recovered memories had brought fresh anger and hatred back with them.

Both emotions were sorely needed.

She discovered that while her body barely knew it was pregnant, her magic was a different story altogether. Already her magic could detect a barely there sort of presence. A magical disturbance and it...yearned. That as the only word for it. It struggled to reach out to the presence, to touch it, explore it. She was only too aware that where her magic led, her emotions tended to follow.

She honed her anger as a weapon.

She used her hatred to remind herself just whose child she was carrying.

Her mind had no problem viewing the child as a tumor. An alien growth that blindly leeched sustenance from her body and that she would release into the Order's care as soon as was possible. The child may have been innocent of the father's deeds, but if she had to spend the rest of her days looking into the eyes of the man who had killed her best friend, she did not think anybody would remain intact.

In the end, she would happily give the child to someone who could love it as it deserved.

Because she could not.

Every night after supper she would follow him down to the lab and crawl onto the hospital bed. The sheets were always freshly laundered, and as she stared at the ceiling as he waved his wand over her stomach, she wondered who laundered the bedding. The sheets in her room were always fresh and clean too.

The tip of his wand glowed red, as it seemed to do every three or four days now and from the corner of her eye she fancied she saw his mouth tighten a fraction. But she couldn't be sure, and she hated what was coming enough that she didn't care to ask. He turned away and when he turned back there was a potion in his hand.

She drank it without question.

The world rippled slightly and seemed to haze over. A pleasant feeling, leaving her distracted and able to watch him with seeming disinterest as he waved his wand once more. His magic slid into her, and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming as it squirmed around inside her. His face, never pretty to begin with, looked ghoulish in the sickly orange light cast from his wand as he stared down at her belly and every magical instinct she possessed shrieked that the thing in her stomach was feeding.

Finally he was finished, and the tip of his wand faded back to a bright blue that would start showing streaks of red in a day or two. She stared at her stomach, and in spite of the fact that this had been her own choice, she hated the thing inside simply for existing.

She wondered abruptly if it would be worth dying just to take the Bastard with her.

Snape turned his head and surprised her when he opened his mouth to speak. He had never said anything to her before. He would simply watch her get off the bed, throw up in his bin, and leave the lab.This time was different, and afterwards, she wasn't certain that what he did next was even deliberate. When she had time to think, later, it didn't feel deliberate. It had felt more like those accidental pulses of Legilimancy that Harry had subjected her to when he really wanted to know something and met her eyes without thinking.

The touch of Snape's mind inside hers was too much.

Forgetting the plan, forgetting her goal, all she could do was hear herself screaming at him to getoutgetoutgetout, and then her hatred and disgust and sick despair picked him up and threw him out. Threw him all the way across the lab to slam into the stone wall and slide to the floor.

Legs and arms askew, like some bony golem, he stared at her in seeming shock and made no attempt to defend himself as the hatred took on a life of its own and she remembered everything. The look on Harry's face when he caught his first snitch. The pain on his face, and the confusion when Snape verbally sliced at him for no reason at all. She remembered the angry words and the sneers and the black eyes spewing malice and contempt. She remembered the joy in Harry's face when he realized that Voldemort was dead and he was still alive. When he looked at her and realized she was still alive.

And Harry had smiled.

He smiled at her in sheer joy because Hermione Granger was alive and his green eyes danced and invited her to dance with him. And then it ended. A small confused frown had slowly creased his brow and she had not understood. Had barely comprehended what had happened even as Harry came apart in front of her eyes and all that was left was the Bastard's betrayal and empty black eyes.

She hated him for that most of all.

As if Harry was nothing and meant nothing. Just gone. Gone forever. And she, in her stupidity and shock had let the Bastard go. Had stood there in disbelief and done nothing.

She felt her impotent rage, her desire to scream and claw at his face until flesh tore, until blood ran red, until he was screaming louder than the screams in her head. She wanted his pain. She wanted to smash her fist into his face until nothing remained except pain. Until he was less than the nothing he would have made Harry.

All of it poured into his mind in one burst of screaming and she was vaguely surprised that neither of them went mad. Except perhaps, because she was already there. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he had gotten her memories too. The ones she had never meant for him to see. It would probably mean something to her when she had time to think, but it didn't matter anymore in any case.

He couldn't kill her.

She couldn't abort the child without killing herself.

His eyes were fixed on her as he lay sprawled on the floor, but she wasn't absolutely sure he could see her. He didn't focus on her as she stepped past him, and there was no sound of protest as she left the lab behind.

Four more days, until the tip of his wand turned red.

Just four.

* * *

She emerged from her room after a sleepless night. She preferred to think it was Gryffindor courage that finally drove her to seek him out, but suspected rather, a desire to get whatever was coming over and done with. All of which bother and concern turned out to be moot in the end.

He wasn't there.

He wasn't dead in his lab either, because she checked. An oddity as well, was the lack of wards on the lab door. It occurred to her that she may have injured him and that he had forgotten those wards in his leaving to get help. She tapped one foot slowly as she contemplated the empty lab, then whirled and rushed upstairs.

There was one door in the whole of the house that carried stronger wards than the lab. He had not been around enough for her to ask pointed questions, and no amount of peering through keyholes or lurking with her ear pressed to the door had led to any answers. And given that he hadn't bothered to ward several books that could kill her if she opened them incorrectly, she was rather inclined to take the wards seriously.

She was, however, without her wand, not resources.

His lab contained several ward-dissolving potions. They weren't actually called ward-dissolving potions, of course. She wasn't certain even Snape knew that Murfell's Headache Remedy could also be used to unlock the cupboards that hid Christmas presents.

Luckily, Fred and George had been inventive as children.

It took about twenty minutes and three applications for the potion to counteract the magic feeding the wards on the door. She had tucked several useful potions into the pockets of her jeans, but had her hand wrapped around the handle of the biggest knife she could find. Even with the wards removed, there was no sound she could detect behind the door.

In one swift movement she shoved the door open as hard as she could.

It crashed into the wall, and no one was lurking behind it. Nor was the light from the hall strong enough to do more than allow her to dimly make out the shape of bedroom furniture. Her nose wrinkled as a strange smell seeped from the room. Not illness, and not animal musk, but a little of both with a dry musty odor that reminded her of her grandmother's house.

With all the potential weapons she had gathered, she should have thought to grab a lamp. She ran to get one as fast as she could, morbidly certain she would return to find the door closed and Snape standing next to it. But no such thing occurred. The door still yawned wide, only now she no longer had proof that something hiding inside had not escaped into the house.

Chiding herself for her imagination she crept into the room, lamp high and knife in a Kingsley- approved manner. It did not help her nerves any, that this was always the point where the mad wife or insane sister came shrieking out of the shadows.

She reminded herself sharply that Bellatrix had died on the battlefield.

The room appeared empty, but there had to be a reason for the wards. The lamp was casting odd shadows across the bed and she held her breath as she crept closer. Slowly she made out a lump that should have been too small to be a body, but couldn't be anything else. She lifted the lamp higher, half-expecting the face of a child to be revealed.

Instead, she found herself staring into the glassy dead eyes of Harry Potter.


	8. And Things Get Complicated

"Mudblood should NOT be in here."

Hermione shrieked and whirled, reflexively throwing the knife at him. Kreacher dodged it with the ease of long practice and flapped his ears at her. He gave her a sly look as he sidled past and poked at the blanket covering Harry's body.

"Kreacher is the only one who is supposed to be in here. Kreacher is the one who is being forced to take care of Master's needs,"the elf whined.

Hermione sucked in a breath. "He's alive?"

She whirled around and dropped to her knees beside the bed. She reached out a trembling hand and rested it lightly against his chest. It took longer than her shattered nerves could reasonably take, but she felt it. A slow, shallow breath that barely disturbed her touch. She felt a sob shake her body and didn't recognize the high keening noise at first as coming from her own throat.

She wanted to throw herself on the bed and wrap her arms around him, but oh gods he was so frail. She was terrified she'd hurt him.

"What happened to him?"she demanded, turning on the elf with a snarl.

Kreacher dropped into an obsequious slouch that didn't fool her for a minute. " The Halfblood traitor brought him here, yes he did. Brought old Kreacher here too, to slave for him. Kreacher is being worn out from all the cooking and cleaning and making Master's bed."

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously.

Kreacher backed up a step, then his rheumy eyes dropped to her stomach and rested there for a long moment. His ears flapped rapidly, then he smiled. Hermione caught her breath at the sheer malicious delight in his eyes.

"Miss should be taking care of herself, she should. Not wandering into nasty bedrooms filled with Dark Magic. Miss mustn't let anything happen to the child."

The elf snapped his fingers and instantly she found herself sitting in a chair next to Harry's bed, a warm quilt tucked around her shoulders. Kreacher stared at her stomach with such avid attention, she thought for a moment he was going to step forward and touch her. It.

"Don't ever use magic on me again without my permission,"she said in a low hard voice.

Kreacher glared at her, eyes filling with a malicious hate that was disturbing in the same way Bellatrix had been disturbing. But he had no choice. When the elf had returned, the binding tying him to Harry had not allowed them to get rid of him. Instead, they had been forced to wrap him so tightly in direct orders his self-punishment always gave him away when he tried to do something nasty.

"Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix killed my beautiful Mistress, oh yes they did. Kreacher is not forgetting that, oh no he isn't." Kreacher mumbled, then his eyes darted to her stomach and his eyes brightened.

Hermione shuddered.

* * *

She hadn't wanted to leave Harry, but she had no choice.

Kreacher's behaviour, never sane at the best of times, had given her an awful idea. It had not escaped her that Harry Potter was here - alive - and no one in the Order knew. Her initial thought, accompanied by an almost hysterical relief that Snape might not be a traitor after all, had died a quick death when reason reasserted itself.

Harry was alive, but injured in some way she could not determine.

No one knew he was alive.

Snape had been on the receiving end of thoughts he couldn't help but interpret as murderously suicidal.

Snape had received all her memories - and he knew why she was here.

It couldn't be a coincidence that several hours later, she was left alone - with an unwarded lab no less - and discovered Harry in a room he had to know her curiosity would drive her to seek out.

And Kreacher...Kreacher had looked at her stomach as if her unborn child were Bellatrix come back to him.

It was this last she found to be most disturbing. Kreacher had started rambling and somewhere in the monologue she had realized that Snape had ordered him to stay hidden from Hermione. He couldn't have known of Harry's orders that Kreacher had to reveal himself if ever he were in the same room with her.

So all Snape expected her to find, was Harry.

She tore through his lab as carefully as she could. Ingrained habits wouldn't let her knock over cauldrons or destroy ingredients, and her practical side said she might need them later anyway. She made no effort to hide her snooping. He wouldn't believe her even if she did deny it.

His lab notes were suspiciously easy to find.

She stuffed them into a pocket and kept looking. She'd read what he wanted her to find later. For now, she needed to find what he didn't want her to see. The lab was an exhausting place to search, but in the end, the fact it was a lab made things easier. There were only so many places that notes and journals could be hidden where they wouldn't risk coming in contact with the supplies.

A good hiding spot had to be safe from spills, accidents, and explosions. She remembered reading several older potions texts that all mentioned that potions journals tended to be hidden in plain sight without magic. Merlin had done it. Slytherin had done it. And they had all done it for the same reason.

Magic, especially strong magic, reacted badly with unfinished potions.

She had to crawl under the desk in the corner before she found it. A hard press on a small raised stone and the whole desk lifted and swung away from the wall. She was fairly certain it was all accomplished by non-magical gears and counterweights.

A narrow stairwell was revealed, and she didn't forget the lamp this time as she wedged the chair in the doorway to keep it open and slowly descended into the darkness. There were no wards, but she didn't expect any. Magic of any kind would have given this bolthole away.

She wasn't arrogant enough to think no one else could have found the hideyhole, but rationally, she didn't expect most people would have had the chance to search. And she doubted Snape cared what happened to his notes if he were dead.

She finally reached the bottom, and as several torches burst into flame, she had to swallow an amazed gasp as she stepped into a chamber that could have sheltered Merlin himself. Books. Ancient and powerful enough to send shivers down her spine. Her eyes travelled the shelves with wonder. Her hand was reaching out to touch one before she came to her senses.

The room was small. Except for the shelves which looked to hold his working journals as well as his more valuable texts, there was only a desk. This was where he did his real work, she realized, as she leaned cautiously to look at his notes. The book in her pocket was surely reference material for whatever he was working on, but here was where he did his true research.

Her fingers reached for the book lying next to several sheets of recently used parchment.

_...and it hath been observed that a distancing of affection during the formative weeks creates an unnatural severing of the maternal bond between witch and unborn childe. It hath also been observed that those unnatural children, when brought to their power in the fullness of time, have without fail, been drawn into the Dark. _

_It stands to reason then, that those fell wizards looking to breed one such of their kind, would look to those unfortunate witches afflicted with the bitter fruit of rape or those who suffer the lash of domestic tyranny... _

She set the book carefully back where she had found it.

She stood for a long moment, staring blindly at the answer to all her questions. Why he wanted the child. Why he was willing to use Harry to hold her here, blackmail her into staying in spite of the risk she presented and the hatred she felt for him.

He was breeding a Dark Lady.

She neither knew nor particularly cared at the moment, whether the body was to house the soul of Voldemort. She would deal with that when she didn't feel like she was about to shatter. In two paragraphs, the book had taken her choices and laid down an unthinkable path. She couldn't leave. She couldn't call for help. She couldn't abandon Harry.

But for the sake of all who would suffer if she hated where she wished, she would have to do the impossible.

She would have to learn to love Snape's daughter.

The laugh that echoed briefly would have done Bellatrix proud, but she did not stay to listen to the echoes. She had one more thing to do. There had been bruises on Harry's body. Bruises and welts and she rather thought those had been teeth marks, down on his wrist. She didn't suspect Snape directly, she recognized the shape of those teeth, but he allowed it. He allowed it to continue.

Walking slowly up to the bedroom she ordered Kreacher to stay where he was. The elf didn't question the order. He was used to being told to keep out of the way. She said nothing as she walked past him into the bathroom and he ignored her when she told him to keep his eye on Harry.The literalness of the command kept him from turning his head as she came up behind him and he didn't move fast enough in suspecting her of treachery.

The dry twig sound echoed not at all, as she brought her hands up and snapped his neck.

* * *

She buried Kreacher in the backyard, as far from the garden as she could get. Then she went inside and made tea.

It took her three hours to brew a proper set of medicinal potions for Harry. She couldn't find all the ones she wanted and she would not have trusted them anyway. Not today. She hide the notes she had stolen from Snape's lab, the ones he expected her to find. She had smiled as she smoothed Harry's pillow.

He wouldn't mind.

She treated the bite first. A nasty looking thing that had just started to turn. The infection oozed across Harry's knuckles as she applied the healing ointment and she bandaged it carefully when she was satisfied the infection had run clear. The welts were next. She wasn't sure what had caused those. Deliberately careless claws she would assume.

She was working on the bruises on his legs when she sensed someone standing behind her. She turned her head and made no attempt to hide the contempt she felt. He watched her with emotionless eyes and said nothing. She turned back to Harry and finished smoothing the bruise potion into his right shin.

He left as silently as he came, and she concluded bitterly that he had every right to be satisfied with himself. As far as he was concerned, she was doing exactly what he intended her to do. Two hours later and she had seen to all of Harry's hurts that she could treat. His unnerving open-eyed stare never shifted. Never wandered. He blinked, but only in reflex.

Snape might have arranged for her cooperation.

But she refused to let him hear her cry.

He said nothing about his missing notes, but as he seated himself at the supper table he froze and regarded the table blankly when the food did not appear. His head snapped up as she rose and went into the kitchen to retrieve the dish she had left on the stove. It was nothing fancy. Just a simple fry up.

Her cooking skills were slim to non-existent given lack of time and lack of desire to learn.

An odd expression appeared in his eyes and he regarded the door to the kitchen for a long moment after she sat back down. Then he watched her take a healthy portion of food and begin to eat. Something moved in the depths of his eyes as he stared at her unblinking and she hugged the fantasy to herself that it almost looked like fear.

He looked at his plate and she waited until he had lifted a mouthful to his lips and sniffed cautiously. Then, just as his mouth opened, she smiled.

The fork clattered to the table and she whistled cheerfully as she pushed away from the table and sauntered up to her bedroom.

She grinned as she heard the plate hit the wall a few seconds later.


	9. Another Round With Lucius

"She killed him,"Severus said bluntly, throwing himself rather carelessly into one of Lucius's grandfather's chairs.

"Potter?"Lucius inquired with alarmed disbelief.

Severus gave him a look of disgust and reached for a bottle of his best brandy. "Hardly,"Severus said. "She killed that abominable excuse for an elf."

Lucius smiled fondly with memory. "Narcissa killed an elf once."

Severus snorted rudely."Narcissa lost her temper and levitated Miffsy out a fifth storey window."

"Who?"Lucius asked after a moment's contemplation.

"Your damn elf!" Severus roared.

Lucius nodded, unconcerned. He couldn't be expected to keep track of the names of all his servants, now could he?

"And what did your estimable Miss Granger do?" he asked mildly.

"Broke his neck,"Severus mumbled. "With her hands I suspect."

Lucius paused as he considered that. Then he sneered slightly.

"Do not blame it on her parentage, Lucius,"Severus warned. "I am not in the mood."

Lucius sniffed,"I was going to comment on the obvious fact that she is Gryffindor. That precludes any sort of civilized behaviour."

Severus gave him an incredulous look he chose not to interpret.

"At least Potter isn't covered in bruises anymore,"Severus said grudgingly.

"I was unaware that you cared, Severus."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, I was thrilled with the idea of handing the Dark Lord his new body while it had marks on it."

There was a silence as the two men shuddered at the thought of what form the Dark Lord's unhappiness might take. Lucius took a swift swallow of brandy and changed the subject.

"Is she still trying to poison you?"

Severus snorted. Inelegantly, but Lucius forgave him. Witches were a trial when they were pregnant. The more so when it was worth your life to curse them. That contract was a piece of careless business and he had made certain Severus knew his opinion about his stupidity.

In a civilized manner, of course.

"She's moved from attempt to actually doing so,"Severus said gloomily.

Lucius sighed. "Narcissa poisoned me on several occasions."

Severus just grunted.

"She did,"Lucius protested.

Severus tilted his head back and stared at the library ceiling. "Narcissa gave you emetics when you came home drunk and deflating draughts every time she caught you with the upstairs maid."

"How would you know?"Lucius demanded.

Severus grinned wickedly,"Who do you think gave them to her?"

Lucius blinked. "I think I resent that."

Severus shrugged,"Better me than someone who would have poisoned you for real."

Lucius raised a glass in acknowledgment. "True."

"She is enjoying herself,"Severus complained, aggrieved. "She knows damn well she can't actually succeed. I've brewed more poisons than she even knows exist. She is doing it to prove she can. It is ...irritating."

"So seduce her,"Lucius said airily, thinking the suggestion a most obvious one.

Regretfully, Severus had not been thinking clearly. There was an extended silence from the other wizard, then a strangled,"WHAT?"

Lucius shrugged. "Take the aggravation to bed. It will be much more fun."

Lucius considered that Severus really was far too attracted to Mudbloods. Still, friends assisted their friends, even when their vices were incomprehensible.

"Lie to her, Severus."Lucius advised bluntly. "Potter is alive, her reason to hate you is gone. She doesn't know your true purpose here. Convince her you are still loyal to the Order and that you have taken Potter into hiding for his own safety."

He turned his head to see his friend studying him with wide-eyed disbelief. Severus settled back into the chair with a huff and glared at the fire.

"There are days the way your mind works scares me, Lucius."

Lucius smirked. "The Dark Lord has already acknowledged your claim to her. You signed the contract out of loyalty to him. He is hardly going to begrudge you what enjoyment you can seize from the girl."

"And the child?"

Lucius shrugged. "By the time Miss Granger stops hating you, it will be too late for the Light."

Severus stared at him for a long moment.

Then he smiled.


	10. Pieces of Truth Revealed

Hermione contemplated whether she cared enough to go make breakfast so that she could poison Snape with it.

The flower in her hand danced in the light breeze and she stared, mesmerized by the energy that sparkled along the stem as the sunlight slid across green skin. Thoughts of Snape were forgotten and she was barely aware of her own body swaying in time to the flower.

When she remembered to consider her own actions, Hermione thought perhaps she might be getting a little strange.

Determined to thwart Snape and whatever Dark plans he had for the child, she had sat alone in her room the night she discovered Harry and tentatively allowed her magic to reach for the child. If she had had reservations, her magic had none. It raced into her body, pulling her mind in unfamiliar directions. She had been plunged into a sea of sensations, feeling and sound that her dazed mind had dimly understood to be her own body.

Then her magic found the child and she had nearly killed it by accident.

The knot of cells was too small to be called a baby, too mindless to have sentience. It didn't even really have a brain. Just cells and hunger. It had lunged for her magic, and her own reflex as it swallowed her magic down had been to yank the magic protectively away. The child sucked mindlessly and she no longer wondered what Snape had been doing those nights his wand turned red.

He had been letting it feed on his magic.

There were no words to describe what she saw then. Her magic explored the oddity inside her body and her own curiosity was sparked as she saw flickers of another magic, a proto-magic, respond in reflex. The curiosity, though, was all one-sided.

There was no intelligence as of yet. Simple animal reflex informed the cells and once she had mapped the entirety of its being she had found her adult curiosity engaged by other things. Leaving behind a bit of itself with the child, her magic slipped into a rushing river of heat and motion that she only later identified as her own bloodstream.

She had no idea how long she had sat like that, stretching out new senses. She had never contemplated searching her own body like this before. She had never considered if it was even possible. Magic was directed outwards, focused through a wand. This inner travel was disconcerting to say the least.

Hunger had finally driven her from her room. She had always been able to ignore those demands on previous occasions, but not when she saw her cells darken with demand. Her attempt to poison Snape that night had been half-hearted at best.

Surprisingly, he had said nothing.

She vaguely remembered that he had tried to engage her in conversation for once. She thought she had answered the first few questions, but had soon found herself drawn back into the undiscovered territory that was Hermione Granger. She did not recall the moment he had abandoned all attempts at conversation. She did not even recall how many days had passed.

She cooked when she was hungry and she took care of Harry.

Harry did not demand much of her attention but something about him made her cells uneasy. She found herself spending more and more time out in the garden, as far from the house as she could get.

It was her magic's curiosity about the child that kept pulling her back inside herself. The healing spells she had been taught were never so intrusive and it took time to accustom herself to this new vision. Slowly, she mapped the textures of flesh and bone and found herself able to affect small changes in her own cells. A bruise she had not consciously considered glowed a lurid red when viewed from the inside. Before she had realized that ability would follow intent, she had soothed the injury and set it right.

Without her wand.

She scoured the library for books on the subject, but found nothing. Healing spells, healing potions, and diagnostic spells were there in abundance, but not one reference to inner sight. She was forced to make due with a handful of Muggle anatomy and medical texts that, by the inscriptions, belonged to a much younger Snape.

It was at that point she discovered that her brain had turned to mush.

She would read, not with her customary absorption, but with a distant interest that was easily distracted. It was not unusual for a single sentence to capture her attention and her mind would dive into her body to seek this new thing out. She resigned herself to the problem as it soon became apparent that no amount of disgust with herself brought about a change.

And the days passed.

The nights, too, and if her brain had turned to mush she was still determined to discover what half-truths and misdirection Snape intended with his notes. He had never asked for them back, and she knew he knew she had them. Still, he said nothing.

It was slow going. Her annoying tendancy to get distracted aside, it had taken her days to realize his notes made no sense because they were not the notes she expected to see. They were not about magic. Nor were they anything she expected to see written in a Death Eater's hand.

The Bastard was using Muggle science.

As she struggled with the unfamiliar notations, the repeating sequences had slowly resolved themselves into genetic codes. DNA, RNA, and genetic inheritance. Notes referencing earlier work with mice that would have terrified her if it had not also reassured her that perhaps she was not about to give birth to Frankenstein's baby.

A baby who was none of hers, nor Snape's either.

She had thought at first it had been a sick, twisted way to soothe an obsession. A way to have a child with Lily two decades after her death. Harry possessed half his mother's DNA. Unfortunately, there was no sure-fire way to determine which half was hers. The recombination of genes during the fertilization process allowed for an unbelievable amount of variation. It would have been an impossible task but for one thing.

Snape was not a Muggle.

He also had a blood sample from Petunia Dursley that Hermione refused to wonder about. And samples from all the Muggleborn witches he had interviewed as potential surrogates. Humans possessed two types of DNA: nuclear and mitochondrial. Of the two, nuclear was inherited from both parents. Mitochondrial DNA was limited almost solely to the maternal line.

Of course, it included bits and pieces of ancestral bacteria and mutated very rapidly. So rapidly that it was possible to use the rate of mutation as a clock to estimate how closely two individuals were related. Snape had used the blood samples and various Arithmantic calculations that- quite frankly - would have earned him accolades and awards had he dared publish the data.

The end result had been a high-level of certainty as to which genes were Lily's, and which belonged to James Potter. Then Snape had taken his research one step further. Extracting a sample of Harry's sperm, Snape had spliced the cells, excising the Potter DNA and replacing it with sequences of mitochondrial DNA that his Arithmancy had predicted most likely to have been a sequence present in Lily.

It was...staggering.

Brilliant.

Terrifying.

When the gene-splicing was complete, he had forced the recombination of multiple pairs of these modified sex cells over and over until Arithmancy told him he had finally achieved a result that was as close to Lily as he was likely to get. Or as close as he was likely to need. A chill had gone down her spine as she studied meticulous documentation that confirmed the proto-magic of the zygote echoed the maternal magic recorded in Harry's cells. The ancient magic Lily had used to protect him from Voldemort, now inactive and powerless since Voldemort had been resurrected using Harry's blood.

But it was measurable, and Snape had invented the charms to measure it.

If ever she had needed proof of his brilliance, this was it. It had hurt in a way she had not expected that such brilliance, a mind that could see all the connections between Muggle science and magic would pervert that brilliance to malevolent purpose. He knew! He knew how wrong the purebloods were. He had proof, here in his own research, that their prejudice was so much worthless rhetoric when a half-blood could accomplish this.

He knew...

...and he still bent knee to Voldemort.

It hurt, with a bewildering pain that made no sense to her. He had betrayed them, he had betrayed Harry, and still, this seemed like the greatest betrayal of all.

She made no attempt to poison him that night, and if he had been slightly disconcerted by her wounded eyes and bruised expression as she stared at him, he did not stay long enough at the table to reveal it. He had simply slammed the front door behind him, and she had gone back to studying his final lesson in treachery.

Because he had trapped her, as surely as if he had chained her to the bed.

Trapped her mind, and her magic, and all the commitment of her Gryffindor heart. This child was hers now, to guard as if it were Harry's own. More, because the blood and magic was not that of a daughter or sister, but that of a mother and her maternal line. And there were Dark spells that utilized the blood and magic between mother and child.

For good...and ill.

She stared down at Harry's unconscious body and grimly concluded that while Snape had promised- by contract - to protect the child, he had made no such promises about Harry. But now she knew, and now she knew what she was looking for.

She took a deep breath and settled into the chair beside his bed. She ignored the slightly greasy feeling the Dark magic gave to his skin and took his hand carefully between her own. Then, using the new-found skills her child had taught her, she delicately inserted her consciousness into his body.

Not wandless magic, she finally realized. Not a directing out using will instead of wand. But a directing in. A quieter, more intimate process. One of seasons, and cycles, and the slow drift of time. Healing magic, but only as a side effect. Ancient magic. Woman's magic.

Mother's magic.

And Hermione Granger had ever been a willing student.


	11. Mother's Magic

Lucius regarded the front door of the hovel that Severus saw fit to deem a hidey-hole and sighed. Truly, one's friends could be a torment. Severus had missed not one, but two of their traditional meetings, sending nothing but a curt owl by way of explanation.

Praise Merlin the Dark Lord had not asked any uncomfortable questions.

Lucius raised his wand to tap impatiently on the door, frowning at the texture of the wood. He did not recall that the summer cottage inherited by Eileen Prince had ever done duty as a Birthing House. Nor, looking at the shimmer of new bark, did this appear to be the growth of centuries.

"Severus, my friend,"Lucius muttered,"what have you done?"

A quick spell and a wave of his wand let him cautiously into the foyer. Silence was his only greeting, and Lucius felt a trickle of unease shiver down his spine. Moss grew in wayward tufts across damp flagstone, and the walls sprouted branches from new greenwood.

Lucius was about to check on Potter when a shadow detached itself from the wall before he could take more than two steps in the requisite direction. Dirt smeared her skin and her hair was an unthinkable nest of twigs and leaves. No awareness of her nakedness showed in her feral gaze and he eyed the slightly rounded swell of her pregnancy warily.

"Severus, you fool!" Lucius shouted forcefully. "Show yourself at once!"

She displayed no reaction, no startle reflex - and that alone would have concerned him. He wrinkled his nose as the pungent animal smell of her washed over him.

"Lucius?"

He spun on one booted foot and cursed as he nearly lost his balance on slick stone. He glared at the wizard regarding him with amusement.

"You've quite let the girl go wild, Severus," he said bluntly. "I would have thought you more civilized than this."

Severus shrugged with an appalling lack of concern. "She stays out of my way."

"She's filthy,"Lucius said with distaste.

Severus shrugged again. "It does her no harm."

Lucius wanted to point out that it was not exactly conducive to a pleasant experience in the bedroom, whatever Severus's predilections for Mud. Nor was he as certain as he should be that his friend understood what he was allowing. Lucius only reluctantly remembered that the Potions Master was a half-blood - and Eileen Prince, for all her Pureblood ancestry, had lived more oft-times as a Muggle than not.

"There are some traditions that were abandoned for good reason, Severus."

Wandless magic of this sort had no use in the modern world. And with her mind and magic clearly locked to that of the developing child, that would be all she would be good for until the child was born. He could think of no family line that still adhered this religiously to the old ways. Not even that peasant Weasley had seen his wife in full seclusion for more than the initial six weeks of her first pregnancy. Just enough for the bonding.

As for the Mudblood...

Lucius blinked as he reconsidered what Severus had said about trouble. This was Granger after all. He had no doubt that were she in her right mind, she could have been a fair bit of trouble. Her dubious charms aside, there had never been anything wrong with her magic.

Lucius tugged his cuffs into place as he considered this fact. It was, perhaps, more of a sacrifice than he would have been prepared to make. Mudblood or no, he saw no reason to deny himself the pleasures of a nubile young witch when she was so conveniently at hand. Severus always was too much of an ascetic for his own good.

Still, it was no concern of his. He had done his duty in assuring himself of his friend's health and status among the living. If the Granger girl's protective stance and location between Lucius and the upper stairwell was any way to judge, Potter was still among the living, so his duty to the Dark Lord was secured as well. As for the archaic power the witch would acquire - no matter.

She wouldn't live long enough to find a use for it.


	12. A Son Remembers

Eileen Prince had always regretted that her only child had not been a daughter.

Maiden. Mother. Crone.

The three faces of a witch. Three stages of womanhood. No accident either that they were traditionally shown with a smoking cauldron. Even Dumbledore, as knowledgable as he was about potions, never truly understood what Severus told him about the distaff brewers of ancient history. The hags. The crones. The wild women of the moors.

Eileen gave up the potential her first pregnancy had offered her. She had allowed her husband's prejudice to make that choice for her, and in later years, the shadow of bitter resentment had never left her eyes. The chance had been lost forever. Once innoculated to the prescence of a child, the magic never again reacted with such desperate and all consuming curiosity.

Regardless, his mother taught him what she knew of potions. That which she had learned from her mother, who had learned from her mother before her. The skills which Severus would pass to his own daughter, when she was born. A long tradition stretching back far beyond the years when Merlin tupped his sister to see her power grow, then betrayed her when he feared the consequenses.

Legilimency had always seemed a much better answer.

There had been times when he had resented Lily nearly as much as he had admired her. Just by being female, she owned something he could never possess. No matter how hard he worked. No matter how much he loved the brewing of magic. He had thought at least, she might share that mystery with him.

But Potter thought the traditions were old-fashioned.

And by then, Lily was no longer his friend.

Muggleborn that she was, she had not even realized what she stood to gain, and it had all come out wrong when he tried to tell her. She had accused him of trying to trick her into mimicing her so-called betters and making a fool of herself. Not to mention sabotaging her magic for nine months. She hadn't believed him, when he'd said he would protect her.

She had angered him almost onto hatred then, to so casually give up a gift he could never possess. And somewhere, deep inside, a part of him would always be a sixteen-year-old Legilimens who truly thought his mother might forgive him if he could share what he might have learned.

"Shall I tell you a secret, Ms Granger?"

There was silence. Then a soft shuffle as she slipped out of the shadowed doorway and into the library. That she did so willingly, when she had never entered this room while he was present, did not escape him. Brown eyes, always so irritatingly vulnerable in his memory, pierced him with a cold stare that should have appeared out of place on a woman swelling with child. Somehow, it seemed fitting. This woman. This child.

The boy lying in a hex-induced coma upstairs.

She had deliberately placed his body between herself and Lucius today. Instinct, he was certain, more than trust. A witch's pragmatism; a mother's ruthlessness. Yet, she had not relinquished her guardianship over Potter. Her mind and her instincts were in agreement on that front. She would have sacrificed Severus without hesitation.

He had to make certain she understood the potential cost.

"The curse you have been trying to identify in Potter is called Mother's Lament," he said shortly.

He smiled mirthlessly as her eyes suddenly widened. "I see you understand." He gestured toward her belly and she moved one hand protectively in reflex.

It was not a well-known curse. The cure was said to have been discovered as a witch wept for her cursed children. There might even have been a grain of truth to the story. Only it was blood, not tears.

Lily's blood would suffice to brew the antidote. There was no other substitute. Severus had faked Potter's death for one reason only. To buy time to finish his research. Predictably, the Dark Lord had been murderously livid when he discovered what had happened and no one to tell him who had cursed the boy. Severus had no intention of admitting that the non-verbal curse that dropped the boy had been his own.

It had been the only way to get what he wanted.

Dumbledore, for all his Muggle-loving ways, had been very uncomfortable with certain types of genetic research. It came too close to raising the dead in the old wizard's mind. Severus suspected Dumbledore had not believed him the night Severus told him they needed Lily's blood as a weapon. There had been too many times Severus had looked up and caught a fleeting and poorly hidden look of disgust in the Headmaster's eyes.

The result of Dumbledore's suspician had been unfortunate. He had refused to allow the necessary research and experimentation. Research the Dark Lord - and Lucious - had generously funded after Potter fell. As it stood now, once the boy was revived, the Dark Lord would take possession of his body as had always been intended. If Potter survived, the Dark Lord would once again possess a human body - and Potter's unbroken soul.

The cycle of Horcrux creation would begin all over again.

"The Dark Lord requires only her blood,"he told the witch bluntly." Something he could acquire at this very moment if her survival was not an issue. I am still valuable to him, however, and the Dark Lord does not throw away the lives of loyal servants unnecessarily. For the moment, the contract protects you."

He felt no need to tell her that the Dark Lord would also want to be certain the potion worked, before he risked his Potion Master's life. Severus had been careful to balance confidence in his research and caution. For once, the Dark Lord seemed to understand caution. Then again, he no longer possessed the Horcruxes of the past. Potter was the last.

The Dark Lord needed a healthy Lily as much as Severus.

The house seemed to take a deep breath around him. Severus froze and eyed the walls with some trepidation. The last time the house had done this, roots had burst forth from the first floor baseboards and driven themselves through the stone flooring and deep into the earth beneath. The broken stone had shifted and smoothed itself flat, neatly accommodating the new addition.

When nothing further seemed to happen, Severus allowed himself to relax. Slightly. He turned his attention back to the witch looking at him with contempt.

"Parlor tricks,Miss Granger,"he said disdainfully."They will not stop the Dark Lord if he comes for you."

Although, truthfully, no one had tried impaling him on a tree before.

It could work.

More likely, however, the Dark Lord would burn the house to the ground and all within it. No...his original plan was best. Allowing her to experience a traditional first pregnancy had been an indulgence. A gift to himself. For once, the action held no hidden secrets. When all was said and done, he just wanted to see it happen. He wanted someone to be able to sense the gentle bloom of magic as she stirred and listened to it whisper.

He had already willed her the family journals. If the Light survived and he did not, someone might live to recall his mother's legacy. He could trust now that she would take care of Lily. Love her. Teach her. Miss Granger's knowledge of potions was a poor substitute for his own, but she would teach his daughter what she could. And she would understand and protect her when it came time for Lily to have a child of her own.

He had made certain of it.


End file.
